


Sweet Tooth For You

by cedarbranch



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Crush at First Sight, Fluff, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, except when gerry has heart eyes for a regular, gerry and melanie are the mean gay baristas we all need
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarbranch/pseuds/cedarbranch
Summary: Gerry isn’t a people person. Anyone would know it just from looking at him. And even if they somehow didn’t pick up on it from his all-black clothing and resting bitch face, his deadpan humor would probably give it away in two minutes.Personality-wise, he’s the opposite of what a barista should be, but the thing is, he can make adamngood latte.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 46
Kudos: 158





	Sweet Tooth For You

**Author's Note:**

> written for the gerrymichael server holiday gift exchange! hope you like it cat <33
> 
> title is from [sweet tooth](https://youtu.be/Ypmes7XisTg) by cavetown.
> 
> (disclaimer: i know shit nothing about coffee, but let's hope i pulled this off anyway!)

Gerry isn’t a people person. Anyone would know it just from looking at him. And even if they somehow didn’t pick up on it from his all-black clothing and resting bitch face, his deadpan humor would probably give it away in two minutes. 

Personality-wise, he’s the opposite of what a barista should be, but the thing is, he can make a _damn_ good latte. 

It’s an important skill to have, especially considering how often he finds himself running up to the cafe with minutes to spare before his shift begins. 

Gerry throws the door open. The bell over it jingles. “Not late!” he says, pointing at his shift-mate, Melanie, who’s already setting up behind the counter. 

Melanie checks her phone. “You made it by two minutes,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“I am impressive, thanks for noticing,” Gerry says sweetly, going into the back to hang up his black leather jacket. He swaps it for a black apron. “How’s it going?” he asks.

“Fine. I got no sleep last night, but what else is new?” The coffee machine hisses and burbles as Melanie starts to make what will presumably be her first shift drink of the day. She usually goes through two iced lattes by the end of the morning, and regrets it every time, but caffeine is a fickle master, and she’s not breaking out of its control any time soon. The bags beneath her eyes are proof of that much.

Gerry comes back to join her and survey the shop. There are no customers in yet, but there will be soon—they always start to flood in right around now, rushing to their early-morning classes, still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Melanie looks just as exhausted as the rest of them. She drums her fingers against the countertop while the machine works, stifling a yawn. “How’re you?” she asks. “Ready for another day as the backbone of university life?”

“Always,” Gerry replies. “The world would crumble without us.”

“Honestly.”

As soon as she’s responded, the bell over the front door chimes, and the first customer walks in. Melanie straightens up instantly and snaps into place at the counter. “Hi, how are you?” she says brightly. “What can I get for you today?”

It’s always a marvel to watch her transformation. She has customer service down to a science—the second someone even thinks about walking in, she can turn her smile on like a lightbulb, and as soon as they’re gone, she melts right back into the grumpy, sarcastic little bastard Gerry knows her to be. Part of him envies that power. Mostly, he’s just glad that she has enough cheer packed into her little body to carry the both of them. Gerry’s never been good at forced pleasantries. 

They work well together, though. They’ve been taking the same shifts since their second year at uni. In that time, they’ve mastered the art of picking songs for the shop playlist that are alternative but not too aggressive, and Gerry can anticipate almost exactly where she’ll be at any given time. They keep the shop running like a well-oiled machine, switching back and forth between taking orders and making them. Sometimes they race to see who can fill their orders faster—it helps pass the time, and keeps them on pace when the shop is packed. 

Today’s shift is a particularly busy one. After the first customer, another one walks right in, and before long, there’s a line stretching to the door for the morning rush. “Medium peppermint mocha?” Melanie asks as Gerry’s popping the lid onto a cup. “Anything else? No? Gotcha, that’ll be $5.25.” 

Gerry sets the cup on the open part of the counter and leans over it. “Americano for Sarah!” he calls out. The Sarah in question hops up from a nearby table to retrieve her drink. Gerry spins back around. Melanie has already switched gears into filling her order, which leaves the cash register open to him. He steps over and starts with, “Hey, what can I—”

His voice stops working mid-sentence. 

The next guy in line is, to put it simply, _gorgeous_. No, that doesn’t even do it justice—he has honey-blonde curls that spill loosely over his shoulders, and freckles flecked across his face like cinnamon sugar. Gerry didn’t know a person’s eyes could _be_ that blue. For a second, his mind is totally blank. 

No time for staring, though. His autopilot mode kicks back on: “What can I get for you?”

“Um, I’ll have a small latte with cinnamon, please,” says the guy. His voice is soft and nasal in a sweet kind of way. Gerry’s heart flutters a little. 

He doesn’t let it show, though, and punches the order into the iPad on the counter with a few quick motions. “That’ll be $4.15,” he says. The guy hands over his card, and Gerry swipes it through the slot before passing it back. “Can I get your name?” he asks. _And maybe your number?_ is the unspoken follow-up.

“Oh, right—it’s, it’s Michael,” the guy says. 

“Michael,” Gerry repeats. “Nice name.” He taps the iPad screen to ready it for the next transaction. “Sit tight, I’ll have that ready for you in just a second.”

He grabs a small cup and slides over to the coffee machine. Melanie switches into place at the counter at once, greeting the next customer with a cheery, “Hi, how are you?”

Gerry tunes them out as he makes Michael’s drink. He’s careful with it, taking an extra second to make sure the milk is extra frothy, and the coffee fills up right to the rim of the cup. It’s silly, he knows, but he’s only human. He’s never actually met someone who got him speechless through looks alone. Of course he’s going to try to impress. 

Once he finishes up, he sets it on the counter and calls out, “Cinnamon latte for Michael!”

Michael steps forward and takes it. “Thanks,” he says. 

“No problem,” Gerry says with a smile. “Have a good one.”

Michael retreats with his latte. Gerry watches him go, expecting him to walk straight out the door, but he just slips into a seat at one of the tables by the window and sets his bag down. He takes out his laptop and puts in a pair of earbuds, getting right to work. It’s stupid to watch him—to him, it’ll probably be just another coffee. He won’t have any sort of visible reaction. Still, on the off chance that he does, Gerry wants to see it. 

Michael looks down at his cup. Then he picks it up and takes a cautious sip. 

His brow furrows a little, and he immediately sets it back down, returning to his work.

Shit. Gerry normally nails his orders—he’s even gotten compliments a few times, not that he’s bragging—but maybe he fucked something up this time. He watches for another few seconds to see if Michael picks it back up again, but he’s typing away at his computer. Gerry’s… oddly disappointed. 

Oh well. He can’t win them all. 

That’s what he tells himself as he goes to take the next order, but even as he gets back into the rhythm of making fancy lattes and cappuccinos, he catches himself sneaking glances over to Michael’s table. He doesn’t seem to be drinking his coffee. And here Gerry was hoping to make a good impression. 

It’s fine, though. Gerry probably won’t ever see him again, and if he does, he’ll just have to up his game.

***

A week later, Michael walks into the cafe for the second time. 

Gerry has just finished an order when the bell over the door rings. He glances up, gets a flash of blonde curls, and has to do a double take—it feels too good to be true, but here he is, lanky and freckled and just as pretty as before. He’s wearing a sweater vest over a casual button-down, which should be unbearably dorky, but for some reason, it just makes Gerry’s pulse jump. 

Christ. Gerry isn’t prone to crushing on strangers, but this guy is cute enough that that just might change. He’s not sure whether he should be concerned or not. 

At the most, the bigger issue is the fact that Melanie’s moving toward the counter. 

Gerry scrambles over to intercept her path and all but shoves the drink he’s holding into her hands. “Take care of this,” he says, and zips to the counter. “Hey,” he says brightly. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty well! How about you?” Michael asks with a smile. He’s got a gap between his front teeth. 

“Better and better,” says Gerry. He doesn’t full-on lean over the counter, he’s not that much of a menace, but he leans one hand on it and lets his eyes flick over Michael briefly before he asks, “What can I get for you?” 

“Um, a small latte with cinnamon,” Michael says. Gerry’s pretty sure that’s the same thing he ordered last week. He files that information away for later and punches it into the iPad.

“$4.15,” he says. “And your name?”

He doesn’t need to ask, but it’s a matter of keeping up appearances. “Michael,” Michael replies, and Gerry grabs a cup to scribble his name on the side. He pushes the card reader toward Michael so he can swipe his card, then lets Melanie take over his place at the counter. 

Just like last time, Gerry puts a little extra care into Michael’s drink. He adjusts the espresso ratio this time, adding a little bit of extra milk, so when he pours it in, the coffee swirls into a slightly lighter shade of brown. The foam makes a neat layer on top, and Gerry sprinkles cinnamon over it until it’s beautifully speckled with burnt orange. 

“Cinnamon latte for Michael!” he calls out, setting it down on the counter. Michael comes over to get it. “You have a great day,” Gerry says, grinning at him.

“You too,” Michael says with a smile. Score. He takes his drink and retreats over to the table by the window. 

There are already a few customers lined up at the counter. Gerry goes to take the first one’s order. It takes him a few minutes, but when he gets the chance, he sneaks another peek over at Michael. This time, his eyes land on the back of Michael’s laptop, which is covered in stickers. It’s got a little mushroom design and a block of text that Gerry can’t make out from this far away, right next to the… the little rainbow in the corner, oh, _oh._ That’s definitely the logo for the school’s LGBT center.

Well, that… changes things.

Gerry stares for a little too long before he remembers what he’s doing and fumbles to grab a tea bag from the box. 

His heart is racing. Gerry’s not picky about who he flirts with—if someone’s hot, they’re hot, and it’s all in good fun anyway, nothing too serious about it. He’s only seen Michael once before. He would’ve been perfectly happy to drop a few hints at him and then leave it be, since for all he knows, Michael won’t come back. 

But he’s gay. So maybe, if Gerry drops hints, he’ll actually pick up on them. 

Gerry takes a deep breath. He can’t start down this train of thought now. It’d be stupid. Michael doesn’t even know his name. Hell, Gerry doesn’t even _like_ him, not really; he’s still a stranger, just an incredibly good-looking one. Admiring him is a nice way to liven up his Friday mornings—it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. 

But right when he looks over at Michael, Michael takes a long sip of his latte. He gets that same little scrunch in his nose as last time, but he takes another sip anyway. When he sets the cup down again, he’s smiling faintly, and he rests his chin in his hand as he scrolls through his laptop. His hair frames his face in gentle curls, and with his long lashes and dusting of freckles, he looks almost angelic. 

_He’s gay,_ the not-so-helpful voice in Gerry’s head reminds him.

Gerry turns around and resignedly begins to assemble his first shift drink of the day. It’s not likely to make him feel better—it’ll probably just make him more jittery—but he needs _something_ to distract him, and it might as well be making himself an espresso. He resists the urge to bonk his head on the coffee machine.

He is so totally fucked.

***

As much as Gerry expects him to, Michael doesn’t disappear. In fact, his presence on Fridays becomes pretty dependable—sometimes he shows up earlier in the morning, sometimes later, but after a few weeks, Gerry comes to think of the little table by the window as his, and when he smiles at Michael, Michael always smiles back. 

One Friday morning, Gerry lies to himself like usual and pretends he isn’t waiting for Michael to walk through the door. It doesn’t take long—one second he’s making an espresso for a harried-looking student with massive eye bags, then he turns around and Michael is standing there in line. His eyes slide right over Gerry, then snap back to him, and he smiles, raising his hand in a little wave. 

Gerry stands there for a moment, just beaming, before Melanie clears her throat and gestures for him to move along. Gerry hastily sets the cup down on the counter to be picked up. Melanie takes the next order, and then it’s Michael’s turn. Gerry’s at the front desk in a flash. “Small latte with cinnamon?” he asks.

“That’s right!” Michael says brightly. He hands over his card, and Gerry swipes it with a flourish. 

“Good taste as always,” he says. “I’m more of a black coffee person, myself, but that might just be because I’m edgy.”

Michael giggles. “I never would’ve noticed.”

Gerry smiles. “Just be glad I don’t work at Starbucks, then I wouldn’t be able to get away with half the stuff I wear here.” He gestures at his outfit—today, it’s a Sisters of Mercy shirt with ripped skinny jeans and a bullet belt, plus his usual black nail polish and piercings. “Plus, then I wouldn’t get you as a regular. What would my week be without the Friday cinnamon latte?”

Michael smiles sheepishly. “Maybe a little less predictable?”

“Hey, we all need something reliable,” says Gerry, plucking a paper cup from the stack. He gets to work on Michael’s drink, and Michael lingers by the counter. “What’s on the agenda for today?” he asks while the coffee machine works its magic. He inclines his head over to the table by the window. “I see you working over there a lot. Got a deadline coming up?”

“Oh, it’s always something or other,” Michael says, waving his hand. “I have a paper due tomorrow for my art history class.”

“Oh, nice! Is that your major?” Gerry inquires. 

Michael shakes his head. “No, I’m Philosophy and English.”

“Ooh, a double major. That explains the need for caffeine.” Gerry pauses as he goes to pour the milk into Michael’s drink. He’s done this the same way every single week, and it’s never seemed to make Michael enjoy it any more. Maybe—just maybe—he can afford a little artistic license here.

He sneaks a pump of vanilla syrup into the mix and asks, “What drew you to art history, then?” 

Michael shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to notice the addition to his drink, thank goodness. “I-I dunno,” he says. “Maybe it’s the philosopher in me, I just—I like thinking about beautiful things, you know? And the history behind them, a-and the kinds of things we consider beautiful, and how we came to. It’s interesting. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” says Gerry. He fits a lid onto Michael’s cup. “Believe me,” he says, looking up and letting his eyes wander over Michael for a brief moment, “I can appreciate beauty, too.” 

He passes the cup over the counter. Michael reaches out in the same moment, and when he takes it, their fingers brush. Michael’s cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. Gerry half-smiles and drops his hand. “Enjoy,” he says. “And good luck on that paper.”

“Th-thanks,” Michael stammers. He backs up and nearly trips over his feet on his way to the table. Gerry laughs to himself and turns back. 

Melanie is giving him a pointed look from her position at the coffee machine. “What?” Gerry asks.

“That was something,” she says.

Gerry brushes past her. “Shut up,” he says under his breath, and goes to take the next customer’s order. She gets a chai latte, which is one of Gerry’s favorite drinks to make, both because it’s easy and because it smells so damn good. As he’s retrieving the tea bags, he looks over at Michael.

He’s got his chin in his hand, idly reading something on his screen. The sunlight pouring in from the window makes his hair glow. He takes a sip of his latte, and there’s a slight twitch in his eyebrows, a flicker of surprise—he drinks a little more.

Gerry can feel a smile spreading across his face. He turns away quickly and gets back to the chai, so Melanie doesn’t notice and make another comment, but he can’t crush the pleased little thrill in his chest. Maybe adding a little extra sweetness to Michael’s drink wasn’t such a bad idea. He’ll have to try it again next time.

There’s no end goal for any of this, no prize to be won. Michael probably won’t ever notice anything different. But even if it’s subconscious, it feels good to know that Gerry’s making his mornings a little bit more enjoyable.

***

“Why are people so obsessed with coffee?” Gerry says under his breath. He caps a paper cup at lightning speed and slides it out onto the counter, calling out the name, “Catherine!” before starting on the next order. “Seriously, it’s not _this_ good.”

“You’re telling me,” Melanie mutters. Usually, their system of swapping places works like a charm, but during rushes, all bets are off. Times like these are when they work side by side to play catch-up and make sure no customers get too pissed at them for the delay.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we had more employees on morning shifts?” Gerry muses, punching the buttons on the coffee machine. “Imagine that. Imagine nine o’clock being manageable.”

“No time to imagine, I’m busy trying to make it a reality.” Melanie cuts around him to the syrups and pumps a few rapid spurts of caramel into a drink. “Iced caramel latte for Ben!” she shouts, setting it down. As she turns, Gerry hands her the half-finished drink in his hand.

“Take this one, just needs vanilla,” he directs, and side-steps back to the counter. “Hey, how can I—oh, hi, Michael.”

“Morning,” Michael says with a half-smile. “Busy day?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Gerry says, shaking his head with exasperation. He inputs Michael’s order without even thinking about it—it’s muscle memory at this point—and swipes his card for him. “At least you’re here, though. Maybe this morning will still be salvageable.”

“I—I guess I am easier than most people,” says Michael. “I do always get the same thing, and it’s pretty simple, right?”

Gerry chuckles. “Not what I meant.” He takes off before Michael can question further. He can’t afford to put his usual degree of care into Michael’s latte, which is unfortunate, but he throws in a little caramel syrup along with the vanilla to make up for it. He scribbles Michael’s name onto the side, adding a quick doodle of a heart, and carries it over to the counter. Michael is already waiting for him—all he has to do is pass it over. 

“Thanks, Gerry,” Michael says. Gerry pauses, his brain taking an extra moment to process—but, oh, he’s wearing a name tag, right. 

His name sounds nice coming from Michael’s lips. 

Michael backs up and goes back to his table, but instead of putting in his earbuds like usual, he leaves them out. As Gerry gets back to work, he can see Michael from the corner of his eye, still looking over at him, still smiling. He grins to himself. Michael gets it—Gerry would’ve talked to him longer if he had the chance, but a rush is a rush. Maybe Michael will stick around until after it’s over.

Gerry ends up too busy to pay much attention to him, but when things begin to slow down again, he leans back against the counter and catches Michael already looking over at him. Michael waves. Gerry pops his most exhausted peace sign, hoping that it will silently convey how hellish customer service can be. Michael nods ruefully. Yeah, he gets it. He looks back at his laptop and takes a sip of his latte—he has to tilt the cup back a fair amount… which means he’s actually been drinking it. Which means he likes it.

Gerry smiles. _Okay?_ he mouths. Michael catches his eye again and nods, smiling back. Maybe Gerry’s finally hit on the perfect ingredient mix this time. 

Gerry should probably find a way to suggest that he order something else, considering what he gets every week is definitely not a cinnamon latte anymore, but something keeps Gerry from telling him. He likes being able to work out for himself what Michael will like. Hopefully Michael will appreciate that. 

Not that he’s planning on fessing up anytime soon, of course.

***

It’s a beautiful Friday morning. The sun is shining outside, casting rays of warm, honeyed light through the windows, and even Melanie, who’s normally grumpy on morning shifts, is humming as she works. It’s the kind of morning that feels like it’s meant for something.

For most people, apparently, it’s meant for being outside, not hanging out in a cafe.

Melanie reaches around Gerry to pluck a paper cup from the stack. “You all right?” she asks, slotting the cup neatly into place beneath a syrup nozzle and pumping a shot of caramel into it.

“Fine,” Gerry replies absentmindedly. “Why?”

“You’ve been staring out the window for ages.”

“And? It’s nice out.”

“Normally when it’s nice out, people smile about it,” Melanie says lightly. “You look like someone spilled bleach on your black denim jacket.”

Gerry gives her the side-eye. “That’s an oddly specific metaphor.”

“Yes, it is. Based on personal experience, I think that’s the most anguished a person can feel, and that’s the energy you’re giving off on this lovely morning.” Melanie smirks and pulls the cup from the machine, seamlessly switching it over to the syrup dispensers. She pumps a squirt of vanilla into it and asks, “What’s got you down? Sad that your boy toy hasn’t stopped by?”

“He’s not my _boy toy_ ,” Gerry groans. 

“And yet you immediately knew who I was talking about!” Melanie snickers and fits the milk pitcher beneath the steamer wand. It hisses loudly. “Shh,” she says, and its volume increases to a shriek. She huffs and waits for it to finish before saying, “I’m sure he’ll be around at some point, he’s probably just out enjoying the sunshine.”

“Melanie, you don’t have to reassure me that a stranger is going to buy coffee from me.”

“You sure?” Melanie asks, raising her eyebrows. “Because you do seem pretty mopey.”

“I’m not mopey, I’m just distracted.”

“Sure, sure. When are you going to ask him out?” Melanie asks, snapping a lid onto the cup. She brings it over to the counter, calls out the customer’s name, and returns to lean against the counter. “Seriously, I don’t know how much longer I can stand to watch you pine in silence,” she says, amused. “You’re Gerry Delano! I’ve never known you to chicken out on anything, come on.”

“I don’t have to ask him out,” Gerry says. “You can see a person and think they’re attractive without wanting to ask them out.”

“True,” says Melanie. “But you fancy him, don’t you?”

Christ. Gerry turns and grabs a cup of his own. He’s already made himself one shift drink today, but apparently, one is not going to be enough. “Maybe,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. “A little. The way you fancy someone you don’t know at all.”

“Are you forgetting that I met Georgie after seeing her across a lecture hall, or are you deliberately alluding to that?” Melanie inquires.

Shit. Gerry had forgotten.

“She was a total stranger! And you know what I did?” Melanie asks pleasantly. “I _talked_ to her.” She claps him on the back. “If a lesbian is bolder than you when it comes to flirting, my friend, you are clearly doing something wrong.”

Okay, Gerry walked into that one. “Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I admit it, it might be nice to talk to him more. But you met Georgie in class, not at work. It’s different.”

“The code of etiquette dictates that no one should flirt with _you_ while you’re working,” Melanie points out. “There’s no rule against flirting with customers.”

Gerry winces. “I don’t want to make it weird. He comes here every week.”

Melanie stops and places her hands on his shoulders. “Gerry,” she says, exasperated. “If you make things _that_ painfully awkward that you scare him out of the shop, consider the fact that he could just,” she pauses, raising her eyebrows for effect, “get coffee when you’re not on shift? Or somewhere else? There’s a Starbucks literally two minutes from here.”

“You’re cajoling me,” Gerry complains. “I don’t like being cajoled.”

“I’m giving you a piece of _friendly advice,_ as the most romantically successful person you know, and I’m telling you if you want him, go get him.” Melanie squeezes his shoulders and then lets go. “Here,” she says, grabbing a fresh cup. “I’m going to teach you a very important lesson.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Only the most important flirting skill you can have as a barista,” says Melanie, punching the buttons on the coffee machine so it begins to pour into the cup. “Latte art.”

“Oh, come on,” Gerry sighs. “I’m not going to—”

“You _are_ going to give him a drink with a little foamy heart on the top, because I’ve seen that boy, and I know he’ll appreciate it. Here, watch me.” Melanie goes through the usual steps for a latte, preparing the expresso and pitcher of foamy milk. “This is the important part,” she murmurs, lowering her voice in concentration. “Hold it just like this, and just sort of—ease it on there.” She pours in the milk, carefully rocking the pitcher so it creates ripples in the circle of white, then raises it up and cuts the stream of milk through the design. It cuts a trail of brown coffee through the middle of the circle, creating a perfectly swirled heart shape. “Voila,” she says proudly. “He’ll never know what hit him.”

“You make it look so easy,” Gerry says dryly.

“It’s not so bad. You can practice with soap and water.” Melanie pours out the remaining milk from the pitcher and goes over to the sink to refill it with water. She squirts in a bit of hand soap and returns to the coffee machine, sticking the steamer wand into the pitcher.

“What are you doing?” Gerry asks, bemused.

“Steaming the soap,” Melanie replies. “It makes the texture more like milk.” She removes the pitcher and swirls it around, tilting it toward Gerry so he can see. The liquid inside has turned thick and white, and it clings to the sides like paint. Melanie passes him the pitcher and wipes off the wand with a hand towel. “Get another cup and practice pouring that in,” she says. “I’ll watch.”

Gerry begrudgingly does as he’s told. Melanie leans back against the counter to watch. “Just wiggle it a bit—don’t hold it too tight,” she cautions. Gerry adjusts his grip and lets the pitcher wobble a little as he pours in the soapy water. “Now ease up.” Gerry tilts it up. The soap collects into a fat blob on the top of the water. “Now try to, like, pour it into the middle, starting from the top.”

Gerry does his best. The resulting design looks more like a misshapen pear than a heart. Melanie giggles. Gerry glares at her, but she waves him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine! That’s really not even that bad for a first try. Now do it again.”

Gerry looks up at the door, silently willing a customer to walk in. No such luck. He sighs and dumps the soapy pear-heart into the sink, refilling it with fresh water. 

It’s fairly slow for the rest of their shift, and by the end of it, Gerry has produced a few half-decent hearts. “You’re welcome,” Melanie says smugly as she takes her apron off. She pinches his cheek in passing. Gerry rolls his eyes. 

As much as he resents her intervention on principle, though, he has to admit, it’s exciting to know that he has something new to surprise Michael with. Melanie’s probably right—he’ll love it. 

As far as Gerry’s concerned, that makes it all worth it.

***

The best mornings are the ones when Michael comes in after the rush, when there’s barely any line, and Gerry can chat with him while the coffee machine does its work. 

Today, Michael’s leaning against the counter, dancing with his shoulders the song that’s playing from the cafe speakers. He quickly stops and composes himself every time Gerry looks up at him, but even as Gerry is focused on pouring extra milk into his latte, he can still see Michael mouthing the words from the corner of his eye. It’s unreasonably cute. “You like this song?” he asks, not looking up.

Michael freezes again, then relaxes. “Yeah,” he says sheepishly. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I wish I could say I picked it, then, but Melanie’s on DJ duty today,” Gerry says, inclining his head towards her. She’s busy rearranging the baked goods in the display case. “If you have any requests, though, I bet I could make it happen.”

“Oh no, it’s fine, you don’t have to do that,” Michael says quickly. “I just—it’s nice, that’s all.”

Gerry sighs, feigning disappointment. “Well, now how am I supposed to win you over now?”

Michael blinks, his cheeks blooming pink. Gerry grins and passes Michael’s drink over the counter. He’s finally gotten good enough at latte art to feel confident handing it over—the heart on top is a little lopsided, but beautifully swirled with pale brown and white. As soon as Michael sees it, a smile spreads across his face. He starts to say something, then stops himself, biting back a smile.

“I-I think—I think that might be enough,” he says.

“Enough for what?”

“To win me over,” Michael says, and scurries back to his table at once. Gerry can feel himself grinning like an idiot. Michael determinedly does not look at him, putting in his earbuds and adjusting the angle of his laptop screen.

What he fails to notice is that his earbuds aren’t plugged in.

Gerry laughs, and just for the hell of it, he goes over to where Melanie’s phone is plugged into the shop speakers. She’s playing her mix of customer-friendly indie pop. Gerry figures she won’t mind if he interrupts it. 

He waits until the song finishes, then puts on _Friday I’m In Love_ by The Cure.

When the familiar synths of the intro begin to play, Melanie snorts loudly. Gerry looks up to see her expression filled with dry amusement. He rolls his eyes and punches her in the shoulder in passing. 

And if he taps his fingers on the counter along with the tempo, silently singing along and sneaking glances at Michael, who could ever blame him?

***

Gerry’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He looks around the shop, but, sure enough, it’s still deserted, so he pulls his phone out and sneaks a glance at it. The home screen shows a text from Melanie: _sorry for skipping out on you,_ she says. _You really don’t want me in there today, though, trust me. I’d sneeze all over you._

 _No worries,_ Gerry texts her back. _It’s totally dead anyway. The rain must be keeping everyone at home._

This might be the most miserable day they’ve had all semester. The sky is dark, and it’s been pouring buckets all morning. Gerry’s shoes are still damp from splashing across campus to the cafe. It seems like most people are smarter than him, or at least not burdened with student employment—he hasn’t seen a single customer yet. 

Fuck it. There’s probably no one coming in, Gerry can relax for a while. He hops up onto the counter and takes his phone out again, opening up Spotify and scrolling idly through his playlists. None of them have the particular gloomy, rainy-day vibe that’s hanging in the air. Maybe the sound of the rain alone will be enough of a soundtrack. Gerry closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, the gentle pitter-patter that occasionally fades away or grows more intense as a dull roar of droplets pounds against the roof. 

The bell over the door tinkles merrily. 

Gerry’s off the counter in a flash. He shoves his phone into his back pocket and turns, putting on his customer service smile, or at least a hasty approximation of it. It turns genuine when he sees who it is. 

He has to hold back a laugh. Michael is absolutely drenched, and shivering even as he wipes his shoes off on the welcome mat—his hair is plastered to his forehead in ringlets like he’s just stepped out of the shower. His clothes are wet, too, the light green knit of his jumper speckled with darker shades where the water has soaked in. Gerry is distinctly reminded of a small kitten left out in the rain. 

“Rough morning?” he asks, smiling in spite of himself.

Michael looks up at him ruefully. “You have no idea,” he says. “I really ought to start checking the forecast before I go outside.”

Gerry laughs. “Well, at least you’re inside now.” He turns and grabs a cup, already starting the first steps of Michael’s order before he asks, “Same as usual, yeah?”

Michael finishes wringing his hair out over the welcome mat and comes over to the counter. “Do you remember everyone’s orders?” he asks curiously.

“Nope,” Gerry says cheerfully. “Just yours.” He glances up to see Michael blushing faintly.

“Wh-why mine?” he asks.

“A couple reasons,” says Gerry. He bends down to grab the milk and pours it into the metal pitcher to steam it. When it’s finished, he removes the pitcher and says, “You always get the same thing. You didn’t actually drink it the first time, but then I thought, hey, maybe I can try and find out what he actually likes, you know?” Michael’s brow furrows a bit. Shit. Way to give away that he’s been staring at Michael every time he comes into the shop, Jesus. “Sorry,” Gerry says. “I know that’s—okay, I know that sounds a little creepy, but you’re in here for hours every week, and I notice things, that’s all.”

“No, it’s fine!” Michael says quickly. “I’m just—surprised you paid attention, that’s all.” 

Gerry relaxes a little. He presses the button on the coffee machine, and it starts to stream into the cup. “You got me curious,” he says. “And it was fun to experiment. You know you’re getting something totally different from what you actually order by this point, right?”

Michael blinks. “Really? I didn’t even notice.” He pauses, looking thoughtful, and says, “Actually, now that I think about it, it has been better lately. I thought that this place was just better than the other cafes on campus.”

“You go to other cafes on campus?” Gerry asks, feigning hurt. “Really, Michael, I thought what we had was special.” He grins and pulls Michael’s latte from the machine, flashing him a wink. Michael goes pink again. “We _are_ better than the other cafes, I’ll have you know, but I’ve been making changes, yeah. You drink it a lot faster when it’s sweet.”

Michael smiles sheepishly. “Guilty.”

“I knew it!” Gerry says triumphantly. He points at Michael. “Okay, you have to tell me, I’ve been dying to know for weeks—why do you get a regular latte if you like sweet ones better? You could just order it like that, you know.”

Michael hesitates. “What?” Gerry asks. Michael is properly blushing now, his cheeks blotched with red like a watercolor painting. Gerry grins. “What?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Michael says, a little whiny. 

“Well, now you’re just making me more curious!” Gerry laughs. 

Michael averts his eyes. Gerry pours the foam over his latte and sprinkles cinnamon over the top. “Fine,” Michael says reluctantly. “The first time I was in here, I didn’t know what to get, so I—I panicked and ordered the first thing I saw on the menu, all right?”

“Okay,” Gerry says, grinning as he slips Michael’s drink into its sleeve. “And what about all the times after that?”

Michael covers his face with his hands. “That’s the embarrassing part,” he says.

“Please, I’m so curious.”

Michael lowers his hands with a sigh. “I don’t actually know anything about coffee,” he says. “I never drank it before this year, I don’t even—”

He stops.

Gerry is feeling more delighted every second.

“Go on,” he says. 

“I don’t even actually like it,” Michael admits. 

“Then why the hell do you come here?” Gerry laughs. 

“I, er… the ambiance?” Michael says weakly. “My roommate’s loud, and I can get my work done better here, and… and the people are always nice.” 

“At least we always know your order,” says Gerry.

Michael smiles shyly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s been nice. Why do you always remember?”

“I already told you. You’re an enigma, I was trying to figure you out.” Gerry hands him his latte.

“You said there were a couple of reasons,” Michael reminds him, taking it. 

Well, shit. Busted.

Gerry could very easily make something up, but if he did, he thinks Melanie might randomly decide she’s well enough to come to work after all and walk in just in time just to hear, and then she’d kick his ass. He shouldn’t let all her pep talks be in vain.

“I have a good memory,” Gerry says casually. “Especially when the person ordering is as gorgeous as you.”

Michael stares at him with round blue eyes. Gerry raises his eyebrows, grinning even as his heart pounds. “What?” Michael squeaks.

“You heard me,” says Gerry. “I’m happy to say it again, though. I have a good memory for people as beautiful as you—which is to say, not many people, really.”

Michael smiles. It looks like more of a nervous reflex than anything else. “You’re not—you’re not making fun of me, are you?”

Shit. “No!” Gerry says, probably too loudly. “No, not at all, I mean it. Sorry if it’s unwanted, I just thought it might be nice to—”

“No, it’s all right,” Michael says hastily. “I just, um—no one’s ever told me that before, out of nowhere.”

“Well, that’s a surprise.”

“No, I-I think—I think you’re definitely the surprising one here.” Michael giggles. He’s clutching his drink with both hands, and radiating enough nervous energy to get Gerry’s heart racing too, but his smile looks real, and the pink of his cheeks looks more flustered than embarrassed. He’s so cute, Gerry might actually die.

“Let me do you one better,” he says. “Let’s get you something you actually like, hm? On the house.”

Michael’s eyebrows fly up into hair. “I—you don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice rising up in pitch once more. “Th-this is perfectly fine, I promise, it’s really not—”

“No, no,” Gerry laughs. “I’m not trying to make up for all the other times, don’t worry—you’re the one who ordered something you don’t like, that’s on you. I just want you to have something nice for now.” He takes a new cup from the stack. “I’m thinking hot chocolate. How’s that sound? Might be nice after being out in the cold.”

Michael chews on his lip. “It is pretty nasty outside,” he says hesitantly.

“Exactly.” Gerry squats down to grab the tub of hot cocoa mix from its tub on the low shelves. He sets it on the counter and spoons it into the paper cup. “I’m guessing you have a sweet tooth,” he says, “so I’m going to make this extra chocolatey.” He adds a couple more spoonfuls of brown powder, glancing up at Michael. Michael doesn’t stop him. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” he says, quieter than before, with none of the same conviction. Aha. Gerry’s got him now.

“Sure,” Gerry says with an easy shrug. “But you’re cute, and I’m in the mood to make a hot chocolate, and _someone’s_ got to drink it.”

Michael ducks his head and looks away, but he can’t hide the way he’s smiling. 

Gerry fills his cup up with hot water and stirs it around until the cocoa is rich and smooth. Then he layers whipped cream on the top, tosses on some chocolate shavings, and hands it to Michael. “Here, I’ll trade you,” he says. Michael gives him back the latte and takes the hot chocolate in exchange. He licks some of the whipped cream from the top and takes a cautious sip. 

“Oh, that’s really good,” he says, surprised. “Is there cinnamon in this?”

“Cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice,” Gerry says cheerfully. “That’s how I always make it.” 

Michael takes another long drink of it. When he lowers the cup again, he blurts out, “Can I tell you something?”

“Shoot,” says Gerry. 

“I lied.”

Gerry raises his eyebrows. “About?”

“About, um… why I come here.” Michael giggles nervously and tucks his hair back behind his ear. “I mean, it _is_ a nice place to do work, but, ah… how embarrassing would it be if I said I mostly come to see you?”

Gerry’s brain stops working for a moment. All he can feel is the skip of his own pulse. “Me?” he asks belatedly. Michael nods, flushing. Gerry has to take a moment to compose himself. It still doesn’t keep him from saying something stupid: “Well, Christ, Michael,” he says, “why didn’t you say something sooner? Here I was thinking I’d have to win you over.”

“No, you did that a long time ago,” Michael admits. 

“Was it the coffee?” Gerry wants to know. “Please tell me it was the coffee, I put so much effort in.”

“It wasn’t _just_ the coffee,” says Michael, smiling. 

“So, the rest was my effortless charm and good looks, right?”

“Stop!” Michael laughs. “You’re not making this any easier!”

“Making what easier?”

“Well, I…” Michael rocks back on his heels, staring into his cup of hot cocoa. His ears have gone pink, too, Gerry notices with delight. “Well, y-you already made me this, so I-I figured I owe you one, and it might be, you know, it might be nice if I could—”

“What’s your last name?” Gerry asks.

Michael blinks at him, bemused. “Shelley,” he says. “Why?”

Gerry leans forward over the counter, grinning widely. “Are you asking me out on a date, Michael Shelley?”

“If I was, would you say yes?” Michael says hopefully.

“I’m assuming we won’t be going for coffee,” says Gerry.

“Yes, that’s, um—that sounds about right. Whatever you want.”

“Well, the answer’s yes either way,” says Gerry. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

“I think we are,” Michael says shyly.

“I think so too,” says Gerry. 

For a moment, they just look at each other. Michael has a bit of whipped cream clinging to his lip. “Hold on,” Gerry says softly, and reaches out to wipe it away with his thumb. Michael freezes, eyes widening—his pupils dilate rapidly, threatening to swallow the crystal blue of his irises. “Okay?” Gerry whispers. Michael nods, almost imperceptibly. Gerry can feel his breath warm against his fingers. Michael sets his cocoa down on the counter. 

Gerry drops his hand.

Neither of them breaks eye contact. Gerry’s heart is beating faster than he’d like to admit. 

Michael yanks Gerry forward to kiss him. Gerry opens his mouth to it at once, cupping Michael’s face with both hands and kissing him soundly. Michael hums contentedly. His lips are soft and warm, and he tastes faintly of chocolate. He threads his fingers through Gerry’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. All Gerry can feel is the sweet, gentle press of his mouth and the slide of his hands in his hair—the rest of the world is far, far away, and in this moment, everything is perfect. 

Until the bell over the door jangles.

They jump apart at once. Michael is red down to the roots of his hair. Some guy stands frozen in the doorway. “Sorry,” he says. “I, um—”

“We’re closed,” Gerry says irritably. 

“But the sign on the door says you’re open?” asks the guy, pointing to the door.

“That’s a shame. We’re closed,” says Gerry. Michael stifles a giggle. The guy looks back and forth between them, perplexed, and finally shakes his head, going right back out the door. 

As soon as he’s gone, Michael collapses into giggles. “ _Gerry_ ,” he says. “You just lost a customer!”

“Forgive me if I really don’t care,” says Gerry. He steps out from behind the counter and goes to flip the sign on the door over to _closed._ When he comes back, Michael is sitting on the counter. “Where were we?” Gerry asks. 

“I don’t know, I think you’ll have to remind me,” Michael says coyly.

“With pleasure,” Gerry murmurs. Michael wraps his arms around him, and they fall into a rhythm easily, a soft, slow kiss that’s surprisingly sweet considering how little they truly know each other. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. Gerry gets the feeling they’ll be getting to know each other much better very, very soon.

And as long as there’s more of this involved, he’s looking forward to every second of it.


End file.
